


Blackouts, Thin Walls, & Neighborly Affection

by sunflowerparker



Category: Harrison Osterfield - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, F/M, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, masturbation mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-21 16:00:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30024231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerparker/pseuds/sunflowerparker
Summary: When the power in your apartment building goes out, your neighbor keeps you company until the lights come back on.
Relationships: Harrison Osterfield/Reader, Harrison Osterfield/You
Kudos: 4





	Blackouts, Thin Walls, & Neighborly Affection

Today is another one of those days where it seems as if Harrison’s only goal in life is to drive you mad.  
When you manage to drag yourself out of your bedroom midday, he is already in your flat waiting for you.   
“Good morning, sunshine,” Harrison greets you. He’s standing in your kitchen, shirtless. Grey sweatpants hang low on his hips. “Would you like some tea?” Shuffling over to the stove, he moves a spatula around in a frying pan.   
“Yes, please,” you grumble, sliding onto the bar stool of the kitchen island. “What are you making?”  
“Eggs. Do you want some?”  
“Are they my eggs?”  
“Yes,” he answers, peeking over his shoulder to grin at you. “Thank you for sharing by the way.”  
You roll your eyes but end the gesture with a sleepy smile as he slides a warm mug across the counter towards you.   
Before you know it, you find yourself staring again. At his hands. His fucking hands.  
They never fail to be on your lower back, grazing your bare shoulder, resting gingerly on your knee, running through his hair. Every chance he gets, it seems like Harrison has set out on a mission to single-handedly destroy your life with his mere hands.   
He has to know. There is no way he doesn’t. Not with the way you gawk at them when he makes a cup of tea or when he taps them idly against the counter waiting for water to boil on the stove or when they linger just a second too long leaving the tingling phantom of his touch on your skin. You could always feel his hands on you long after they were gone, the ghost of their presence lingering like a kiss on your exposed skin.   
And here you are yet again, captivated, taking in the sight of his fingers gripping the lip of the warm mug.  
“Careful,” he chides. In your daze, you’ve reached out for the ceramic only to yank your hand away upon contact. “It’s quite hot.”  
Four months.  
Four months have passed since you moved into the flat next to Harrison’s. And every moment since that day you have been suffering in his wake since he offered to help move you in with those damn hands.   
They are truly beautiful. The long slender digits, the soft glint of the ring adorning his middle finger, how large his palms are, the way they are always warm. Everything about his hands are your favourite, and not just because they are attached to the amazing boy you call your neighbor.  
You think about them constantly, even when they aren’t in your direct line of sight. You pass many nights with your own hands trying to perform the very things you wish Harrison was doing to you—reaching places you couldn’t, stretching you open deliciously, curling his fingers to graze that sweet spot deep inside of you that makes your toes curl. But you know each time that it will never feel the same as if he was doing it himself.  
“Better?” Harrison asks as he reaches out and moves your hair over your shoulder when you lift the mug to your mouth—by the handle this time.   
The gentle yet purposeful touches have only compounded since the day you moved in. You have never been able to decipher if he’s merely a touchy person or if it is something to do with you. As much as you would love to think Harrison does not trade those same touches with other girls, you know better than to get your hopes up like that. It’s Harrison. It’s flirty, dazzling blue-eyed, otherworldly fit Harrison.   
When his lingering gaze finally turns back to the stove, you drop your head into your hands.   
The boy practically lives with you he is over so much. He uses the spare key to your flat more than he uses his own, you are certain. Harrison claims it gets lonely transitioning from living with a house of rowdy boys to residing on his own and you are the perfect company he needs to make it through the day. Not that you are complaining. You enjoy his smiling face, his sweet charm, his funny personality. And have you mentioned his hands yet?  
But you aren’t sure you can take this torture for much longer. You’re bound to fuck up and say something that gives you lustful desires away, and your fear of rejection is enough to have you on edge every moment his eyes linger on you.   
After breakfast, you begin washing dishes.   
“Do you need any help, darling?” Harrison asks, ever the gentleman.   
“That’s alright. You cooked. It’s only fair that I clean up.”  
You feel his warm palm grace your lower back in a passing graze as you bend over the sink to scrub a plate. Your muscles tense instantly, and your grip on the dish nearly slips. Thankfully, Harrison does not seem to notice.   
“What are your plans for the day then?” he asks, leaning with his back against the counter, long fingers drumming against the granite.   
You offer a small shrug, tearing your eyes off of his hands. “Just reading really.”  
“Boring,” he teases. He giggles when you shoot him a glare. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Folding his arms across his bare chest, Harrison’s biceps flex, effortlessly drawing your eyes to him yet again. “I’m probably going to be playing video games with the lads, but if you get bored, feel free to come over. I’ll teach you how to play Fifa.”  
You chuckle at the idea of the boy who tried and failed to teach you how to play a singular song on the guitar instructing you how to play a video game next. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you say.   
“Alright then.” Harrison places a chaste kiss to your cheek since your hands are still submerged in the soapy water. “I’ll see you later.”  
As soon as the door closes behind him, your shoulders slump. If he only knew how much he is teasing you every time he comes over looking like he just rolled out of bed appearing nothing short of effortlessly flawless, you’d probably never be able to look him in the eyes again.   
Once the dishes are put away, you clean up around your flat before you finally sink onto the sofa with your book in hand. The afternoon sun is waning fast, so you flick the lamp positioned on the side table on, immersing yourself into the world of prose.   
The story is just starting to come to its climax. Your eyes scan over the words on the page quickly, absorbing every minute detail when everything goes dark. And not just dark--so dark you can’t see the hand in front of your face dark.   
The sun has long set, the quiet of the night settled in. Your heart is hammering in your chest from being startled by it. Blackouts happen occasionally in the city, but there is something eerie about it happening at night with nothing but candles and flashlights to rely on.   
After sitting for a few hopeful minutes wishing it is just a fluke and the power will cut back on soon, you fumble around the couch and coffee table. You can’t seem to find your phone, swearing under your breath at probably having left it in your bedroom.   
A jingling sound out in the hallway cuts through the stale silence. You freeze. And then a sharp rap on the door.  
You clutch your book to your chest as your hands start to tremble. Seconds bleed together. The thumping of your heart is so loud it’s the only thing you can hear until another jingle rings out into the stiff air.   
The knob clicks, and the door creaks open. A bright light shines into the room, and your heart feels like it drops into your stomach.   
“Y/n?” Harrison whispers.  
“Fucking hell, Haz,” you breathe, letting the book fall into your lap as your muscles relax. “You scared the living shit out of me.”  
“Sorry,” he says. Even though you can’t see him, you know he’s sporting a sheepish grin right about now. “But you should have known it was me. Who else would’ve come knocking at your door in the middle of a blackout?”  
You roll your eyes. “I don’t know. A murderer?” He’s right though. You hate and love that he’s right.   
Harrison pads over to the couch with the flashlight from his phone in his hand. He plops down right next to you. You can finally get a better look at him now that the light is close by.   
He’s in a white hoodie with the same sweatpants from earlier. Glasses rest on the bridge of his nose, and his hair is ruffled as if he’s been running his fingers through it in frustration. The smell of musky body wash wafts in the air around you, your nose flooding with the scent even more when he peels his hoodie off and discards it on the coffee table.   
“My phone is about to die so we should probably find some candles,” Harrison says in a hushed tone.   
“Why are we whispering still?” you ask, mirroring his tone.   
“I don’t know.” He chuckles quietly before readjusting to his normal pitch. “It seems too quiet.”  
“Is that why you came over?” You hold your breath. You don’t want to read too much into it only to have your hopes dashed.   
“Well, yes. I also wanted to make sure you were alright. And judging by your face when I walked in, you most certainly were not.”  
You catch yourself smiling wide before you can stop. The thought of Harrison caring enough to make his way through the dark to ensure you are okay makes your heart somersault in your chest. “Shut up. Let’s find the candles before it’s too late. I want to save my phone’s battery in case of an emergency.”  
After using the flashlight on Harrison’s phone to find a couple of candles in the living room, you trail behind him into the kitchen in search of matches.   
He leans over your shoulder holding the light as you rummage through drawers, not remembering exactly where you last put them. After going through drawer number two, you feel the weight of his chin on your shoulder and Harrison’s hair tickling the side of your face.   
“So I’m thinking next time you should definitely store your matches with the candles. Don’t you agree?”  
If his chin wasn’t resting on your shoulder, you’d shoot a glare at him. “Shut up,” you say instead.   
It takes you much longer than it probably should to find the match box no thanks to the close proximity of the handsome boy that can’t stop touching you. Finally, you spot the small red box and hold it up triumphantly.   
The two of you fumble back over to the couch, Harrison’s hand finding home on your lower back to guide you.   
“Hurry! I’m on one percent battery power right now.”  
You squeal, opening the match box and striking a stick against the rough side of the box until a flame kindles. Harrison helps you light both of the candles before you blow out the match just in time for his phone to officially die.   
He lets out a long sigh of relief, slumping against the back of the couch, one of his hands naturally falling to your thigh. “That was close.”  
Your mind is immediately in the gutter. You can’t help it, truly.  
Shadows dance across Harrison’s face, accentuating the already sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones. The flicker of the flame gleams bright in his pale eyes not unlike the consuming fire you feel for him.   
Harrison makes idle conversation, and you try to pay attention to the best of your abilities. But it is so hard when he looks like an angel glowing in the soft butterscotch light and his hand is on you yet again.   
You don’t dare to move.  
You feel frozen in place like the absence of his touch would leave you completely frazzled. And it probably doesn’t help that you are becoming more turned on by the minute. You can sense the pool between your legs as Harrison squeezes your thigh when you say something funny or when he is grabbing your attention or when he just pauses and looks at you in that certain way that makes your heart race.  
“Are you alright, love?” he asks, voice huskier than usual as his jaw sets firmly. His eyes pierce through yours. You feel like he can read your every thought with those breath-taking blue orbs.   
You trip over your words. “F-fine, Haz.” You clear your throat. “Perfect. Perfectly fine.”  
He arches his eyebrows as if conveying he doesn’t believe you before shrugging slightly and turning his attention back to the flickering candle.   
It’s intimate having him here—just the two of you, burning candles, and quiet.   
But then his hand draws closer to the top of your thigh. You peer at him out of the corner of your eyes, but he seems completely unfazed and unaware of the distress he is causing you. You pull your other leg onto the sofa, curling it close to your chest just for a change of position, but it only makes matters worse. Harrison’s palm slides up even farther with your readjustment, leaving his fingers literal inches away from your clothed center.   
Your nerve endings frazzled, you swallow thickly, trying with all the effort you can muster to gaze anywhere but him.   
You only make it another five seconds before Harrison squeezes your thigh again, and you can’t stop the low moan that leaves your mouth until it is too late.   
Harrison’s head pivots towards you, his heavy stare back on you. Your cheeks burn furiously as you bite your lip, hoping that by some miracle he did not hear the noise you had just made.   
When he gives your upper thigh another squeeze, your lips part, a heavy breath falling out of your mouth. It might as well have been another moan because judging by Harrison’s expression, there is no way he doesn't know what he is doing to you now.   
A faint smirk starts to tug at his lips. You are expecting him to get up and leave, so what he says next had you stunned and your heart flipping in your chest.   
“Do you like when I do that?”  
You inhale a ragged breath of air. His smug grin only grows when you don't answer right away, and even more so when your eyes refuse to look away from the curve of his mouth.   
“Hmm, y/n?” he asks, voice low. “Do you like it when I have my hands on you? There’s no need to be shy about it, love.”  
He punctuates his question with another squeeze, his head dipping close to yours. His lips ghost across the outer shell of your ear before he adds, “I already know you like my hands.”  
“How-” Your eyes dart between his hand on your leg and his knowing smirk. “How did you know?” You might as well embrace it; there is no way you can convince him what had just transpired was anything other than a direct result of the all-consuming lust you possess for his hands.   
Harrison chuckles darkly, his arm moving to drape itself across your shoulders, his other hand taking the place of the one he just moved; his body shifts to face you more. “I watch your eyes, darling, and they are always watching my hands.”  
As he starts drawing circles on your thigh, your gaze immediately falls to study the way they move over your leggings, further proving his point. “I just … I don’t know. I just like them, I guess.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. They’re very-” You gasp silently when he clamps down firmly on your leg, and you’re left scrambling for your words again.   
“Very what?” Harrison goads.  
“Very warm.” A rush of bravery fills you now, so you reach down and intertwine your hand with his that is responsible for distracting you. “And I like the way the veins bulge when you move them around a lot.”  
“Is that all?” he asks, smirk still going strong.   
“N-no.”  
“Are you going to tell me more, pretty girl?”  
If your cheeks weren’t hot before, they certainly are ablaze now. “That depends on what you’re going to do with this information,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him. You truly have revealed too much already and anything more will be crossing a line you aren’t sure he is ready to cross.   
He thumbs over the back of your hand before drawing it to his lips, keeping eye contact with you as he presses a tender kiss to the back of it. “I want to know what you picture when you’re getting off thinking about me.”  
Your eyes widen, and your jaw goes completely slack.   
Had he heard you? How many times has he heard you finish with the sound of his name on the tip of your tongue whilst you pictured his deft fingers fucking in and out of you?  
The laugh that he lets out makes you more embarrassed than the moan that escaped your mouth earlier. But as soon as Harrison notices your change of expression, he places another kiss to the back of your hand. “The walls are thin... but I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”  
Your eyes naturally seek out his fingers. The way they look knotted with yours, the way they appear so large compared with yours has you rubbing your thighs together as you contemplate what this all means.   
“Hey,” he says softly, capturing your attention. “We don't have to… you know.” Suddenly, his confident smirk is gone, replaced with a nervous and rather sheepish grin. “But if you wanted to get the full experience, I’d be happy to show you a good time.”  
“Really?” Your voice comes out more like a croak. All high and all breath.  
“Yeah,” he confirms with a nod. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about goading those pretty noises from your mouth when I heard you saying my name.”  
You lick your lips, loving the direction this conversation is heading. Deciding to take matters into your own hands now, you straddle his lap, his hands falling to your waist as you situate yourself over him. They quickly round the curve of your hips, cupping your ass as he squeezes at the supple flesh.   
“Dammit, Harrison,” you groan, your head falling to rest on his shoulder, your hips bucking forward to grind against his.   
He repeats his action, which only made you rock your hips again, this time pulling a grunt from his mouth.   
“Where do you want them, darling?” he asks, his breath already coming out in pants.   
“Inside me,” you answer immediately. “I want your fingers buried inside of me. God, please.”  
With a curse, Harrison guides you off his lap. There’s an awkward stumble as peeling clothes drop to the floor until you both are left in boxers and panties. You nearly whack Harrison in the nose as you remove your shirt, and Harrison has to brace himself on the couch to keep from falling over when his sweatpants get stuck on his foot.   
Once there is no more grace nor pride left to be found, his eyes travel over your body as yours take in the sight of his toned muscles. You are both in awe, basking in the rush of seeing someone in such a state for the first time.   
“You’re gorgeous, love.” He licks his lips. “Now come here.”  
He reaches out and grabs a hold of your hands, pulling you so you are standing in between his spread legs, he now seated on the couch. His fingertips graze the outsides of your thighs, caressing the soft exposed skin as he makes his way to the hem of your knickers. When they reach their destination, he locks eyes with you as he tugs on the waistband, taking them off in one precise motion. His warm hands sooth the rising chill bumps on your legs, retracing their previous path back up to cinch into your waist.   
With a small tug forward, you are straddling his thighs again, your mouth easily finding his in a passionate kiss. He swallows your moans as his lips move against yours. Tongues dance, teeth bump, giggles air. It is imperfect and romantic and perfect all the same.   
Your muscles tense slightly when his fingers drag over to the front of your thigh, pausing their movement before he breaks the kiss.   
“Can I make you feel good?” he asks, eyes blazed with lust. In the light of the candle, you can see the flame reflecting in his eyes.  
“Fuck. Yes, Haz. I want your fingers so bad.”  
Your lips reconnect as his digit slides between your folds, a low groan erupting from his throat when he feels how wet you are though he has hardly touched you yet.   
“Fucking hell,” he whispers, muffled words hardly audible through your hungry kiss.   
He wastes no time in sliding a finger into your center, your walls clenching around him in relief as soon as it enters you. You are so aroused, he easily slides in a second finger beside it, pumping it in and out of you at the perfect pace. Each drag of his fingertip brushes over your sweet spot, and you have to bite on his lip from crying out from how good it feels to finally experience the very thing you have fantasized about for ages.   
You give a gentle tug to his bottom lip with your teeth, a soft moan echoing into your mouth as he continues his ministrations.   
“I can’t even-” You pause to moan, your eyes pinching shut as Harrison starts to curl his motions to send you clutching onto his shoulders just to balance yourself. “-I can’t even describe how good this feels, Haz. Please don’t stop.”  
“I wasn’t planning on it, darling. Fuck. Not when you sound so gorgeous with my fingers fucking you so well.”  
The air is hot. Your breaths are heavy. The soft blanket of the dark room only adds to the moment. You can feel the heat from the flames caressing your bare back. It only takes Harrison’s lips and teeth finding your neck to push you over the edge, you coming undone with a moan of his name.   
He watches you unravel before returning his mouth to the sensitive column of your throat, his fingers never leaving your cunt as he lazily continues to thrust them as your walls faintly pulse around his digits.   
And then the light comes back on.  
And with it, clarity. The possible consequences from having your neighbor’s fingers knuckle-deep inside of you have yet to cross your mind before now. Judging by the expression on Harrison’s face, he is considering this too.   
“The power is back on,” you say in a near whisper, not knowing how else to lead into an inevitable conversation as to what this all means.   
Harrison glances between you and the lamp. He reaches out and shuts off the light, the dancing flame of the candles the only source of light once more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he whispers back, returning to kissing up your neck.   
He’s right yet again. You can figure the rest out later. Right now, all that matters is that his lips are on your neck and his hands are on your skin, warm, feeling like they are right where they need to be.


End file.
